September, 2008

i don’t know burroughs, ginsberg, or saul williams. they’re only names, myths, and legends. charles bukowski — once heard of. never in my vocabulary. until jack henry. influenced by a.j. kaufmann, david arshawsky and antony hitchin. kapowitz, leigh pierce and kami from down unda. the men i read most and know. the words resinate. as i grow up into some state of display. seeds planted. styles adapted. they’re the classics and books will be filled with their tales. tall. skinny. wide. venti. a generation to live by. the beginning to unknown ends. a tribute of conscious. with a clear chorus, “take it back to the concrete streets. original beats. real live mc’s. playground tactics. no rabbit-in-a-hat trick.” to me, “just straight up classic.” this is a tribute to the men i read.

i will become extinct now
because the cows that i love
to eat and drink will have
no more grass to mow
leaving machine processed
foods for nourishment. eliminating
the use of my four-thousand dollar
orthodontic pretty white pearls and
find worth in the five-thousand
dollar allo-derm gum implants.

i will become extinct now as

my thirty-two year-old digestive
system in which has been pumping
iron exercises three times a day
testing it’s strength with an
8 ounce filet mignon will have
no use any longer so long
to my habitual adult grape
juice for the vines will have
no place to grow. soon they’ll be
powderized. they’ll capsulize my merlot.

i will become extinct now as

the sun sets but only
because it’s manufactured
like pirates of the caribbean
ride you don’t know you’re
inside. fake flames. fake heat.
fake sunsets which provoke my
deepest feelings. artificial now
emotions controlled to it’s
purest form snowboarding
on snoopy sno-cone creations.

replacing our Creator with the
lastest inventions. i will
become extinct now.